The Stonepunks and the Methods of Rationality
by DrSagebrush
Summary: The alien Gazoo has once again appeared on Stonepunk Earth. This time, the Flintstones and Rubbles are mysteriously smarter. Successful Mayor Fred Flintstone wants to befriend Gazoo to avoid a future war. Rationalist General Barney and his wife Betty also want to prevent a war, but their methods are a bit more … aggressive. Will Stonepunk Earth survive?
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER ONE: FRED NEEDS HELP**

My name is Barney Rubble. I am often asked about the recent unpleasantness between planet Earth and the alien creature Gazoo. I hereby present my account of the war, tracing as closely as possible my thought processes at the time. Everything here has been declassified, and I feel it is in the public interest to know as much as possible about the events leading up to the Incident. Opinions expressed are solely my own, and do not reflect the views of either the armed forces or my government.

Certain individuals are keenly interested about my thinking process, for reasons that will make sense when you know the full story. I am surrounded these days by fussing Neurologists and relentless Psychologists. If I appear to be dwelling on my internal life too much, this is why. It is for them.

I will spell out various things my average contemporary reader already knows, but which readers in the distant future may not understand. Feel free to skip over tedious details.

Who am I? I try to keep my self-identity small, to avoid those biases that inevitably accompany professing allegiance to the various -isms. One must stay vigilant to avoid intrusive irrational ideas. It is my job to lead troops into battle, so I hold knowledge and inquiry in high esteem. Accurate maps save lives and win wars. I am, to myself, primarily a Rationalist.

I am also husband to Betty and father to Bamm-Bamm.

Third, I am an Army General.

If, for example, I included in my self-definition a political party, I would eliminate for myself the possibility of asking certain questions, of investigating certain asserted truths, of accurately mapping reality.

Someday very soon I may be ordered to lead troops in a military occupation of the moon. Imagine if, in order to join the Loyal Order of Water Buffalos, I had been required to profess a deeply held belief that the moon is made of cheese. I would be closing off my brain from entire fields of study. Since I already "know" all there is to know about the moon, why bother to run experiments on it? Why send advance probes? When someone presented me with evidence contrary to a cheese-moon, I would be forced to somehow explain that evidence away to stay "Loyal". This is how generals kill troops.

There are forty kinds of lunacy but only one kind of common sense. When I studied Gazoo, when I probed for his weaknesses, I needed truths entangled with reality. I needed reproduceable results. I needed weapons that actually worked in the real world, not just in fantasy.

By practicing Rationality I can send the future where I want it to go. I choose actions that WIN for myself and my soldiers. I'm aware how preachy I sound, but remember, I am still explaining my thinking to the several Neurologists and Psychologists hovering around me. Please feel free to skip these digressions.

More importantly for this account, I am also a next-door neighbor to Bedrock Mayor Fredrick Flintstone. When the incident began I was a Colonel commanding the Camp Millstone Army Base in Cobblestone County, just outside of Bedrock. I was reviewing some report or other when I received an urgent cry for help from my old pal Fred.

Fred Flintstone is one of those people who you vote for based entirely upon his appearance. He is always dressed professionally and is well groomed, in sharp contrast to our other neighbors. He has what is called the "Halo effect". Is he a good mayor? Yes. But not as good as his clothing suggests.

The Halo effect is what the brain does when presented with a positive characteristic. A nice tie or a nice suit or polished shoes causes the brain to assume without evidence that the person wearing the items is smarter, more honest, and more professional. Wearing a tie does not make you a better person. It just seems that way to people who don't understand the Halo effect.  
Fred's message arrived in form of a second slab of rock, delivered by my secretary with the usual morning "Daily Granite" news slab. This declassified slab is now on display at the Smithstonean Institute.

It reads: "PLZ DELIVER GEN BARNEY RUBBLE CMP MILLSTONE HELP BARNEY WATCH BACKYARD 6PM STAY HIDDEN".  
The first part of the message was obviously meant for Arnold the paperboy. Fred probably slipped him a few bucks for the service. The second part was asking me to discretely observe out my back window into Fred's backyard at 6 p.m. tonight. He wanted me to witness something. The word "help" sent chills down my spine. What was THAT about?

Fred didn't want help from the police, or help from firemen, or help from an ambulance crew. He didn't want to borrow a yard tool from his next door neighbor. Fred didn't want advice he could get from approaching me openly over the back fence. He wanted a secret witness.

I skimmed the Daily Granite. Nothing unusual. I set the slab aside and turned on the radio. Nothing on BDRX. I tried the television. Fred's wife, Wilma Flinstone, was hosting her morning cooking show "The Happy Housewife" on the Abbadabba Broadcasting Company channel. She looked healthy and undistracted. So she was not in on the secret, whatever it was, which meant my wife Betty would not be either.

I phoned Betty.

"Hey Betty, do we have anything scheduled for tonight?"  
"Mr. Gotrocks is coming over for dinner. He wants to discuss his idea for a new weapon system."  
"Really. Did he tell you that?"  
"Nope. Feminine intuition."  
"Ha ha."  
"Mrs. Gotrocks told me. She was very apologetic. She'll be coming, but dinner is primarily a sales pitch for you."  
J. L. Gotrocks is an industrial tycoon who is also a dead ringer for Fred Flinstone. We suspect Fred's dad had a genetic adventure one wild night. This is another "Halo effect" reason Fred got elected mayor. Voters imagine Fred shares Gotrock's business skills. As if such skills were inherited, rather than honed. Fred and J. L. disproved the inheritance hypothesis when they swapped identities as a wacky gag a few years back. It doesn't matter if your parents are both world-class piano players. If you don't practice the piano, you're still going to suck at it.  
"Nah, it's fine. How are Pebbles and Bamm Bamm getting along?"  
"They're fine. They're outside playing quietly with Dino and Hoppy. Say hi to Daddy, Bamm-Bamm."  
I heard a faint shout from my boy in the background. "Gazoo!" He yelled. I then heard Fred's daughter Pebbles respond with an equally enthusiastic "Gazoo!"

If reality followed the logic of drama, this would have been the moment another chill raced down my spine. Instead I merely chuckled at the silliness of baby babble.

Dino and Hoppy, wanting to be part of things, began howling.  
Dino is Fred's Snorkasaurus, a relatively small dinosaur and a popular pet. It enjoys having its picture taken. The perfect choice for a mayoral candidate. Hoppy is my Hopparoo, an exotic pet I adopted. Dino and Hoppy are great with the kids. Fred also has a saber-toothed tiger, but it wanders the neighborhood, dislikes newspaper photographers, and doesn't really hang out with our children.  
The Hopparoo is a highly improbable animal. It is a dinosaur that evolved convergent to the kangaroo and shares many of the same physical and behavioral characteristics.

"That's great. Say, is the Polarock camera bird still alive? I'd like to take some pictures tonight."  
"Yep. "Bamm-Bamm enjoys helping me feed the bird every morning. We still have several of those little slabs of undeveloped film in the closet."  
The Polarock camera bird should not exist. It is some kind of specially trained woodpecker that can translate what it sees into two dimensional artistic renderings. It also has limited speech ability, which implies an ability to empathize with human minds rivaling that of a dog. I suppose in an infinite universe even very low probability things can happen, but I would have given this particular bird a zero probability. Well, the universe gets to be what it is, and doesn't care about our merely human opinions.  
"O.K., great. See you tonight. Thanks, Honey."  
"Bye, Dear."

So. No clues yet. Fred wants me to witness something. It is something he can't show me openly. It is something important and possibly dangerous. Is the source of danger the thing he wants to show me, or does the danger emerge from the reaction people might have to seeing it?

Here is my formula for winning:  
Step one: Gather accurate, precise and reproducible information to incrementally update my model of reality.  
Step two: Use the updated model to forecast the most likely future.  
Step three: Make a plan with a measurable goal to bend that future towards my advantage.  
Step four: Gather as rapidly as possible whatever resources I might need to succeed with my plan.  
Step five: Carry out my plan and deal with unforeseen circumstances.  
Step six: Make a record of what happened, so I can learn from my mistakes.

I had my camera. I had two windows that look out over Fred's back yard. I had Betty and the Gotrockses as 2nd, 3rd and 4th witnesses.

And I had my pistol.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO: WHAT WE SAW**

Dinner with the Gotrockses began normally. I listened politely to J.L.'s idea for a weaponized bowling ball. Then I brought up my request for help with my personal spying project. J.L., Mrs. Gotrocks, and Betty were all amused by the cloak-and-dagger opportunity and agreed readily. The rest of dinner was spent in wild speculation of what might be witnessed.

When 6 P.M. arrived I posted myself and Betty discretely at our bedroom window. I asked Betty to operate the Polarock camera, since she had a better relationship with the bird. The Gotrockses humored me by peeking out the second window in the kitchen.  
I loaded my pistol, which earned me a dirty look from Betty.

We could see Fred Flintstone in a "KISS THE COOK" apron - safe for publicity photos - grilling up some bronto-burgers. He appeared to be animatedly talking to Dino. His gaze, however, was not on Dino but was instead directed upward. His head bobbed around, like he was watching a bumblebee.

Wait. Dino was not looking at Fred. Dino was not looking at the delicious smelling meat on the grill. Dino was looking at the bumblebee.  
Fred glanced our direction, and I wiggled the curtain a little. He gave me a slight nod and then placed a patty into a bun. He held the burger up into the air.

The ketchup container floated upward. The top bun lifted itself while the hovering ketchup dispensed itself onto the meat. A couple dill pickle slices rose, spinning, and plunked themselves into the sauce. The top bun replaced itself.

Too my horror, something invisible began to consume the burger. Betty gasped, and a dismayed muffled shout sounded from the kitchen. It was like something from an H.P. Lovdarite novel. Dino barked. Fred glanced at me again.

"NOW, BETTY!" I hissed. She triggered the camera. The woodpecker began chiseling.  
We silently watched the horrific consumption of the bronto burger. The bird pecked. Fred flipped another burger onto the grill.  
It's done. Betty said, subdued. She handed me the photo.

The damn bird had seen what we could not. There was a tiny leprechaun-thing floating above Fred Flintstone.  
The original photo is now on display at the Smithstonean, but I have a copy here in my hands. It is difficult sometimes to judge the scale of objects in the sky, but based upon the reference hamburger, the leprechaun-thing was child sized. A helmet with twin antennae drew my eyes to the overlarge head. Next i noticed the cape, gloves, boots, and belt. Finally I decided that the jumpsuit must have some kind of hidden zipper or fastening on the back, obscured by the cape. The belt didn't seem to be holding anything up. Why was this thing invisible? Why could the bird see it? How did Dino and Fred see it?

"Can YOU see it?"  
"No." Betty hissed.  
"Keep watching."  
I ran out of the room and into the kitchen. Mr. Gotrocks had his arms around Mrs. Gotrocks, but they didn't look away from the window when I entered the room.  
"Can YOU see it?"  
"Not anymore. The burger is gone. What the hell, Rubble?"

I showed them the photo.  
"A demon? A genie? A spirit? A ghost?"  
"No. A mystery. Mrs. Gotrocks, I need to borrow your husband."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE: WHAT THE BIRD SAW**

"You want to borrow J.L. for WHAT, exactly?" Mrs. Gotrocks hissed.

"A few years ago J.L. switched places with Fred Flintstone. I need him to do that again. Right now."  
J.L. coughed. "Ah. Well. Hmm." Mrs. Gotrocks eyes narrowed.

I put my hand on his shoulder. "J.L., I need you to sneak over to Fred's house, climb in through a window, and hide until Fred also goes into the house. Switch places with him and send him over here to secretly report to me."

Betty and I were early adopters of glass windowpanes. The Flintstones, for political reasons, are Window Traditionalists. The political party Fred campaigns with predominately rejects windowpanes. They hang curtains from a horn or antlers and otherwise leave their windows unframed and unglassed. There is no particular reason for this windowpane rejection beyond "that's what our team does". Do glass windowpanes have anything to do with lowering taxes? No. But if you tell me which political party you belong to, I will know using statistics how easily I can sneak into your house.

Of course Fred also wants to score the younger voters, so he shows his solidarity with them by "putting out the cat" at night. There is no point to this beyond pandering as the cat simply jumps back into the house through the unglassed window. Politics is where Common Sense goes when Common Sense is tired of living.

J.L. straightened. "Assuming I agree to this, what do I do then?"  
"Go out into the backyard and announce that the food has made you sleepy. Get into Fred's hammock and take a nap. At least pretend to. You can switch back with Fred after, say, an hour."  
Mrs. Gotrocks interrupted. "Fine, but this time you keep your hands off Wilma or you'll be paying more than just marriage counseling fees."

This was too much information for me so I left the Gotrocks and returned to the bedroom. My Betty had been taking photo after photo. We were almost out of film.

"It doesn't interact with Wilma at all and it ignores Dino. Sometimes it talks to Pebbles, but mostly it just argues with Fred."  
"Argues? Wait, Pebbles can see it?"  
"Yeah. It's not hurting her, it just hovers nearby and makes her laugh. Then it goes back to Fred and they debate things over hamburgers."  
"How do you know they're debating?"  
"Feminine intuition."  
"Not the time."  
"Theory of Mind. Nonverbal communication skills. Extensive practice observing and scrutinizing those in power."  
"All right. I accept that you're the subject matter expert here. What are they debating?"  
"I don't know. I think we should talk to the bird."  
Yes. Was the bird a reliable source? Credible? Normally I don't need to question a reconnaisance photo, but this was a special case.  
"I think you're right. Did you and Bamm-Bamm name it?"  
"Flash".

I peeked into the camera. "Hey there, Flash buddy. We're giving you quite the workout today, huh?"  
The woodpecker shrugged. "It's a living."

I showed him the first photo and pointed to the leprechaun-creature. "Is there anything about this thing you weren't able to depict in the photo?"  
"It's green. Green clothes, green skin. Top to bottom green."

The photo, a carving, couldn't portray color, but the bird could see in color just fine. Birds have evolved colorful plumage for mating, so of course they can distinguish colors. I decided the bird wasn't hallucinating. Or lying.

"Green, huh. Thanks, Flash. I might need your help for more than just photos later."  
"I like grubs and ants. Keep that in mind."  
"Deal."


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR: FRED THE IDEALIST

"Hi Wilma, could you please put Fred on the phone?"  
"Sure thing, Barney."  
From my window I watched Wilma lean out the back door. "Oh Freh-ed!" Two syllables forced into three when only one was needed. A familiar personality quirk. "Barney wants to talk to you."  
Good. Wilma was acting normally. Probably nothing to worry about there. Probably.

Wilma is a pretty redhead, an obvious match for her mayor husband. Research shows that the trophy wife stereotype is largely a myth. Wilma is a successful television personality on a conservative cooking show. True trophy wives DO exist, but they are rare, and Wilma is not one of them. Neither is my Betty.  
I covered the handset and spoke to the camera bird. "Flash, let me know if the gremlin-thing follows that big guy, Fred, into the house."  
"Nope. It's staying by the barbecue." This was confirmed when I saw the spatula float up to flip a patty.

Fred's voice came on the line. "Barn, ol' pal. Thanks for-"  
I had two dozen questions. I asked the only one that mattered. "Fred! Is it dangerous?"  
Fred hesitated. "That's complicat-"  
I cut in. "J.L. Gotrocks is sneaking into your house. Send Wilma outside to flip a burger. Switch places with him and come over here. DON'T get seen."  
"Yeah, all right." I heard him greet Gotrocks. "Be right there, Barn." The line went dead.  
I put my arm around Betty. "He said: Complicated." I told her.  
Mrs. Gotrocks was standing in the doorway. "Shards." She swore.

The three of us brought the bird into the kitchen to meet Fred. We waited silently. We waited some more. Sneaking takes time.

When Fred finally arrived, Betty spoke to him before I could, thrusting a photo into his hands. "Does Wilma know?"  
"Wilma? No, not yet. She can't see it and I didn't tell her because Gazoo warned me I shouldn't."  
He looked over the photo, eyebrows raised and curved, and then glanced up at the woodpecker. "No, not yet." Mumbling. "This picture will definitely help if I do."  
"IF you do?!" I could feel the interrobang that ended Betty's outburst.  
I rescued Fred. "You called it 'Gazoo'. What is it?"  
Fred straightened a bit and smiled. "Gazoo is a he. I know because I helped it pick a preferred pronoun."  
Ugh. Politicians. "Fred, this is VERY IMPORTANT." I need to know if this is some kind of hoax."

"No. Not a hoax." Fred continued. "Gazoo's an exile from the future. From the planet Zetox. This is a real 'close encounter' type-deal, like on that Sci-Fi television show 'My Favorite Martian'. I'm an unofficial ambassador for Earth now."

Exile. The state of being barred from one's native country, typically for political or punitive reasons. Gazoo was here because ... he ... was being punished.

"I've been teaching him the Quaker religion. If he accepts Earthquakerism, he will fit in with us a lot easier and ... ."  
"What was his crime?" I interrupted, just as Betty said "What was its crime?"  
"He ... built a weapon that could destroy the universe. He wanted to be the first on his block to have one. He says he wasn't planning to use it. He just wanted to own it. He's actually a pretty good gu..."  
"I NEED FIVE MINUTES!" Everyone stared at me, startled, but nobody spoke. I had drawn my pistol at some point, and my hand was shaking. No, actually it was my entire body shaking. I wanted very badly to kill Gazoo. Right now. I needed to take a pause. A five minute cortical-thalamic pause.  
Betty, at least, recognized what I was doing, and also sank into deep thought.

According to Doctor R. Douglas Fiedlerite, the nine triggers for instinctual rage are: self defence, insults which threaten tribal standing, danger to family, encroachment into tribal territory, insult to one's mate, obstruction of daily routine, threat to resources, threat to tribe, and being trapped, restrained or cornered. This "Gazoo" was tripping most of the triggers for me.

The cortical-thalamic pause keeps us from reacting immediately and blindly to a situation. It takes at least five minutes. The hypothalamic system often launches instant violent action based on what was sketchy reasoning in the cortex. This is a good survival instinct against Earth-based predators, but probably a bad strategy against aliens from the future. I needed to give my cortex more time to process this frightening new data.

I, Barney Rubble, am a human from planet Earth. My species values survival. We do what we can against an uncaring universe that eventually kills 100% of us. We help our children and our neighbor's children reproduce. We don't destroy the universe because that is not "doing good" from our viewpoint.

Yes, we DO try to replace the hostile natural environment with a nurturing civilization. We use tools to make spaces more compatible with human needs. We use technology to make the universe serve us. We ... can't ... destroy the universe because we are star-stuff. We cannot be safely removed from the universe.

Unless there is another universe. But how could there be?  
Gazoo says he is an exile from an alien future. Gazoo says he built a weapon to destroy the universe. Because, he says, of aquisitiveness. Gazoo's own people, or perhaps just whoever has power over Gazoo, for whatever reason, punished Gazoo by sending him here.

So Gazoo can be defeated, controlled, limited. Unless he is lying.

On the other hand, whoever punished Gazoo does not care about putting humans in danger. Unless Gazoo is lying.  
Is Gazoo suicidal? Is he lying about the weapon? Does "universe" means something different in the future?

Do I, Barney Rubble, have a less complete map of Reality compared to beings from the future? Yes. Of course I must.  
But there is a high probability that Gazoo is a mad criminal and until I get further evidence that updates my beliefs about him, I must look for ways to neutralize his threat to humanity.

I turned to Fred. "I know about his partial invisibility. I know he can fly. I know about his telekinesis. What else can he do?"  
Fred looked down at his feet. "I've seen him materialize and dematerialize objects. I've seen him teleport."  
"Those could both be explained by time manipulation. He says he's a time traveller. Anything else ...?"  
Fred was almost inaudible. "He temporarily turned Wilma and Betty into chickens. He turned them back to normal when I begged him for mercy. They didn't remember a thing."

Betty made a choking sound. I looked out the window at nothing. I couldn't remember taking my pistol off safety. I slowly flicked the safety back on. "Fred, this better not be a prank."


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE: GAZOO IS BORED

What was happening here? Gazoo watched J.L. Gotrocks emerge from Fred Flintstone's house. Gotrocks scurried over to the hammock and pretended to sleep. Gazoo knew it was Gotrocks because a little name tag that only Gazoo could see hovered over Gotrocks' head. Gazoo could also see Fred's name tag moving slowly along just over the nearby fence. Gazoo abandoned his "little green man" avatar and linked his senses to the invisible camera. He sent the camera over to the fence. Yep, there was Fred, sneaking toward the Rubble house.

This again. The boys were probably scheming to go bowling without their wives finding out. Ho-hum.

This was Gazoo's second time through the "Stonepunk World" simulation. Since Gazoo had successfully demonstrated that he was learning from the experience, Gazoo's jailers had agreed to increase the intelligence of the Flintstone and Rubble NPCs. Gazoo suspected these simulations were less about rehabilitation and more about baby-sitting inmates, so he wasn't surprised that his request was granted.

Gazoo looked back at Gotrocks in the hammock. Actually, a nap right now sounded pretty good. The correctional officers would wake him if he started snoring, but otherwise wouldn't care. Flintstone's "increased intelligence" had manifested in an unfortunate increased enthusiasm for religious debates. "The Great God Yabba Dabba Doo." "Earthquakerism." Ha! Gazoo didn't really want hear whatever "Good News" Rubble had to share.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX: BETTY WANTS ACTION**

"We need to run experiments on that thing out there." Betty demanded. "Soon. We need to make our beliefs about Gazoo start paying rent."

Betty was right. Right now we were afraid of an unknown future created by a mysterious entity. We needed to know more. Specifically, we needed to evict our false beliefs about Gazoo. False beliefs don't pay rent. False beliefs don't forecast the future.

In the words of Eliezer Yud-Kovderskite: "Above all, don't ask what to believe—ask what to anticipate. Every question of belief should flow from a question of anticipation, and that question of anticipation should be the center of the inquiry. Every guess of belief should begin by flowing to a specific guess of anticipation, and should continue to pay rent in future anticipations. If a belief turns deadbeat, evict it."

I nodded to Betty. "Agreed. Let's do this" I turned to Fred. "So, pal. Betty and I are going to come up with some testable hypotheses. Next time we meet we'll hook you up with a wire or something and start feeding you instructions for experiments. Can we count on you?"

Fred was uncomfortable. "Ah, come on, Barn! That's not fair. I'm trying to gain Gazoo's trust. I can render him a non-threat by converting him to the dominant local religion, Earthquakerism. He'd be part of our tribe then. One of us."

"Are you willing to make a bet about this?"

"Um... This isn't the time."

"It's precisely the time. Will you bet one million dollars?"

"Um... ."

"Will you bet all our lives and the universe itself?"

"Um."

"Fred, this isn't the Ice Age anymore. We aren't family units trying to get along with other families herding mammoths across the glaciers. The environmental conditions from which the Quaker religion emerged didn't include something like Gazoo. This is an existential threat we've never faced before."

"Look, Barney, I know you don't believe in Yabba Dabba Doo, but it's self-evidently better to be friends with Gazoo than to antagonize him. So far he's just been mischievous."

Betty sputtered. "Mischievous?!" The audible interrobang again. How did she do that? "It. Turned. Me. Into. A. CHICKEN!"

We were all silent for a moment. Then Fred soldiered on. "Earthquakerism emphasizes hospitality. I can't win him over by seeing how much voltage he can take or whatever. Don't you get it? Im trying to avoid a WAR with Gazoo's people."

Betty hissed. "Barney, you understand that Fred is anthropomorphizing that thing."

"Yes, Betty, I do."

"What does that mean?" Mrs. Gotrocks' eyes were wild. "What's Fred doing? What's anthropomowing?"

Betty turned to her. "Humans think like humans. Cats think like cats, not like humans. Sharks think like sharks. Gazoos think like Gazoos. You wouldn't try to convert a shark to Earthquakerism. Gazoo didn't even evolve on the same planet as us and sharks."

Fred waved this off. "His brain FEELS familiar. Gazoo's a nice guy. He's not a shark. He's more like ... your Polarock camera bird there. I have a feel for Gazoo's personality."

I had seen Fred's people skills and was forced to admit that they were at several levels higher than my own. I'd be foolish to disrespect them. But Betty's people skills were also several levels higher than my own. And she was a Rationalist.

I could ask Mrs. Gotrock's opinion, but her skill level was unknown. I could flip a coin to decide between Betty and Fred. But looking for consensus is at least weak evidence, whereas flipping a coin is no evidence.

"What do you think, Mrs. Gotrocks? Rely on Fred's political skills, or start doing experiments on Gazoo to look for a weakness?"

Mrs. Gotrocks laughed nervously. "C..Can't we do both?"

I sighed. "We can try." I turned to Fred. "If religious conversion doesn't work, are you going to offer your daughter's hand in marriage? That's another thing Quakerism recommends, right?"

Fred glared. "Let's agree that any experiments will be subtle and will not interfere with my attempts to befriend Gazoo."

"Fine."

Betty hurried over to Mrs. Gotrocks and took her arm. "We will need several more Polarock cameras and a bunch of spy equiment. Night vision goggles. You'll fund our research equiment, right, Mrs. Gotrocks?"

Mrs. Gotrocks was confused. "Wait. W..what is happening?"

Betty grinned. "We need Science stuff. With you along, we won't need to 'Chaaaaaarge it!'"


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN: Stonepunk Science**

It was time to send Fred home. Betty and Mrs. Gotrocks had raced off to purchase "science stuff". Fred was fidgeting furtively at the back window, waiting for me to give him instructions compatible with his "befriend Gazoo" plan. I breathed in quickly through my nose, and then breathed out slowly through my mouth. I considered my ABCs. Both of them.

Any trained rescuer knows the acronym A.B.C.: Open the (A)irway. Check for (B)reathing. Check the (C)irculation. The simple mnemonic that helps a rescuer decide when to begin doing CPR ...

... Also tells you how to kill Earth life.

My other A.B.C. was the Killer's A.B.C.: Block the (A)irway. Stop or poison (Breathing). Stop or poison (C)irculation. Would it apply to Gazoo? What experiment could I do to prove or disprove this?

I walked over and stood next to Fred by the window. My gaze landed on the barbecue pit. One does not always have to purchase "science stuff". Some stuff you already own. Other stuff nature provides.

"Fred ol' buddy." I said. "Everyone knows you have mastered the art of barbecuing. Our experiments must be indistinguishable from your normal activities. Do you know how to make a thick, sudden cloud of smoke that can induce a fit of coughing in anyone with a normal airway hovering overhead?

Fred nodded slowly and began thinking aloud, drawing upon his deep and impressive understanding of meats, grease, wood, and fire. I interrupted him when he started explaining polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons to me.

"The photo shows that Gazoo has a mouth. I need you to find out if he is breathing through it." I went over to my fridge and took out a beer. "You only make barbecuing mistakes when you are drinking. Drink this. Make smoke. Make it count. Make him cough."

Fred nodded grimly and left. I waited a few minutes, then phoned Wilma. Wilma "woke" Mr. Gotrocks. Gotrocks and Fred traded places. Fred emerged from his house, popped open the beer, and chugged it down.

I picked up Flash and gave him his assignment. "That big guy, Fred, is going to make a bunch of smoke around the little green flying guy. I need you to take a picture of the little guy right after he leaves the cloud."

"Yes Sir!" Flash saluted.

Time passed. Sometimes science is patience. Then Fred shouted in "alarm" and an impressive cloud of smoke rose from his barbecue pit. Flash chiseled swiftly.

Gazoo looked completely unaffected. "Take another, Flash. Quickly."

Flash chiseled, then handed me the result. Still no visible reaction. Shards. But a negative result is still new information we didn't have previously. He might not breathe like we do. Or maybe he's wearing a breathing mask that Flash can't see. We needed more tests. There was no doubt in my mind, that this would be a long, slow War of Science.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8: Extraordinary Evidence**

Betty pouted a little when she learned I had been doing Science without her, but she got over it when I told her the frustrating result. No coughing. That would have been too easy.

I hadn't observed any disturbance in the smoke as Gazoo passed through. Fred confirmed my observation by filling his bathroom with steam. Gazoo, against all my prior experience, doesn't disrupt the air around him. I was forced to update my beliefs about Gazoo's properties to include this second astonishing fact in the face of our extraordinary experimental evidence.

So much for my plan of targeting Gazoo's outline in a cloudy room. Shards. It was like fighting a ghost.

Two weeks passed. I grew more baffled. Gazoo doesn't breathe. Not through his mouth. Not through his skin. That path was a dead end.

I grew more frustrated. I grew more frightened. Betty kept Pebbles and Bamm Bamm close and started wearing a concealed pistol.

The only things physically disturbed by Gazoo's presence are things he wants to disturb. He pretends to eat, but the food disappears when it enters his mouth. He neither chews nor swallows. He lifts things at a distance, magnetic or non-magnetic, and I can't detect the mechanism.

Betty and I once saw a magic show in Rock Vegas. I sent a letter to the magicians Pennantite and Tellurite begging for help solving this puzzle. They never responded, so I presume they dismissed me just as another nut.

I deployed Polarock camera birds into the trees and rooftops around Fred's backyard to triangulate Gazoo's location at any particular time. I considered training the birds as snipers, but my suspicions were that bullets would have no effect.

I changed my focus to Gazoo's eyes and ears. Fred reported that Gazoo can indeed be startled by loud noises and flashes of light. Progress at last! I requisitioned a large stockpile of flash-bang grenades and stowed them in my toolshed. We would have one chance, and one chance only, to use this secret weapon effectively. But we were not yet ready.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine: The Dawning of Stonepunk Information Warfare

I tilted my head and let the shower water drip across my cheeks to disguise my tears. Modern cavemen don't cry. Ever. Betty adjusted Trixie's trunk away from my face and gave the elephant three pats. Trixie obediently withdrew her head from our bathroom window.

I couldn't meet Betty's gaze. "Shards, Betty. Gazoo's a god. Careful, reproducible, peer-reviewed evidence proves it. He's from the mothersharding future. He's. A. Sharding. God."

Betty stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel for herself. She did me the favor of not looking at my face. "OK, yes, but as gods go he's awfully human. Let's talk first principles again. How do you fight a more technologically advanced country? How does a small man defeat a stronger opponent? How does the average woman defeat the average man? How does a child defeat an adult?

She handed the other towel to me. "How will Barney beat Gazoo?"

When I raised the towel to my face Betty surprised me by gently grabbing my privates.

I laughed humorously. "Ok, fine. I CAN deceive him, and probably even hurt him, but I haven't found a way to END him. My usual methods won't work. The ancient general Sundiusite said: 'Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.'

I noticed my hunched shoulders and straightened angrily. "Sundiusite never fought Gazoo. A sneak attack won't work this time. I don't have enough force multipliers to overcome the physical differences between Gazoo and myself. If Gazoo has a chance to strike back, we all lose."

Betty released me, patted me a few times on my chest, and stepped over to the sink to begin the long process of dealing with her hair. I shook my head vigorously to dry my own short hair, then stepped out of the tub. "Fred is still trying to use religious conversion to enslave ... err... I mean, civilize ... Gazoo. I can no longer say Fred's wrong about that."

Betty snorted. "Yes you can. Modern technology has given us trained recording animals. Parrots recite back unkept campaign promises. Polarock birds permanently record historical events on stone tablets. Science reveals and records the true nature of things."

Betty continued. "Human memory is longer these days. Our ancestors used to get away with lying because the human lifespan was only about 38 years. Religion was an evolutionary shortcut for children and child-like adults who died young. Didn't you say Gazoo has started calling Fred a 'Dum-Dum' lately?"

I picked out a relatively sharp clamshell and started shaving. "I don't disagree, but that's not what I was talking about. What I mean is, Gazoo's BRAIN is his weak point. His beliefs, his perceptions, his map of reality."

I, General Barney Rubble, would study the ancient slight of hand tricks that mystified humans at the dawn of time. I would convince Gazoo that I am strong where I am weak. I would become a trickster, a shaman, a magician. I would earn Gazoo's respect.

Then I would betray him.

I smiled and gently embraced Betty. "Do you think Wilma can get me on her television show?"

Betty blinked and furrowed her brow. "You want to be on "The Happy Housewife?"

"Yep."

A mischievous grin. So hot on Betty. "Thank Yabba. You had me worried for a while. What's the plan?"


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten: Magic

I could not openly tell Betty the plan. My enemy was invisible. My enemy claimed to be a time traveller. My enemy might be hovering right in front of me at any time.

Here is how you run a silent conspiracy to beat an invisible time-travelling eavesdropper: you make sure all potential collaborators have the same education. You make sure all potential allies practice the same skills. You want key players to react correctly but wordlessly when the time for action arrives.

For example, if you are running a "Bayesian" conspiracy in Bedrock, and your master plan requires that your future collaborators know how to correctly use the famous Thaumasite Bayes equation, you arrange for the equation to become part of the standard education curriculum at the Bedrock High School.

I used my connections through the Water Buffaloes and apprenticed myself to a stage magician specializing in slight-of-hand illusions. Every time I learned a trick I chiseled instructions on a slab and left the slab lying around in our laundry room for Betty to find.

Betty caught on and apprenticed herself to a mentalist. Over the next year, I would go into the laundry room, drop off my dirty shirt with the laundry pelican, and review Betty's slabs how to, say, read someone's mind with my fingers.

At some point, I don't know when or how, Betty told Wilma about Gazoo. I was neither surprised nor upset. I can only imagine how heavily the secret had weighed upon Betty, and I knew it was impossible to forbid Betty from sharing the information with her best friend. I could only hope that Wilma didn't tip off Gazoo by changing her behavior overmuch.

What this meant was that Wilma, Betty, Fred and I learned all the same magic tricks at approximately the same rate without a word passing between us. A year went by while the four of us silently practiced making things appear and disappear. I can only imagine what Pebbles and Bamm-Bamm must have thought about our odd methods of preparing meals.

Eventually I had a workable magic act that included an illusory replication of Gazoo's powers, proven, unproven, and suspected. I could "levitate" objects, other people, and myself. I could "make objects appear from thin air". I could "teleport" from one box to another. I could go 15 minutes underwater "without breathing". I could "read minds", "transform black spades to red hearts", and "turn invisible". Betty, Fred, and Wilma were prepared to seamlessly assist me in my act and provide distractions at critical moments.

The time came for my debut performance on television. Wilma arranged for me to appear on "The Happy Housewife". Fred arranged for Gazoo to watch the show.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven: Gazoo is Amused

What was happening here? Gazoo watched Barney Rubble throw fire, disappear and reappear, instantly change his tuxedo into a green skintight outfit, pull fully inflated balloons out of his pockets, and guess the birthdates of random audience members on the "Happy Housewife" show. This was the most interesting thing to happen in the last year.

Gazoo thought back to the zombielike Barney Rubble NPC in the previous "Stonepunk World" simulation. That Rubble had shown no such aptitude for stage magic. That Rubble had been a barely sapient, uninteresting dum-dum.

How far had the correctional officers cranked the dial on Rubble's intelligence parameters? It is difficult to assign a numerical value to "intelligence" in the first place. Could they have accidently uplifted Rubble so high that he hacked his own code? This Rubble was doing miracles.

Gazoo watched Barney Rubble lift into the air. Rubble "hypnotized" Wilma. When Rubble motioned with his hand, Wilma stepped obediently into a box. Rubble snapped his fingers and the box collapsed, revealing not Wilma, but a chicken. A chill ran down Gazoo's spine. This was a bit too specific.

Gazoo glanced nervously at the chicken icon on his HUD. That app had been a seasonal novelty holiday gift from the "Stonepunk World" developers. It allowed players to temporarily swap the skins of NPCs to make them appear as chickens. Gazoo hadn't used the app since he had seen how upset it made Fred Flintstone.

The Fred Flintstone NPC was Gazoo's only friend these days. Gazoo's jailers ignored him, and the other inmates were locked into their own simulations most of the time.

Gazoo was forced to admit that the Flintstone NPC was rehabilitating him. Gazoo was beginning to realize that sufficiently advanced software minds were indistinguishable from wetware minds. Gazoo was starting to understand the new laws protecting simulation entities.

Gazoo was in prision because he had created an Armaggedon hack capable of destroying "Stonepunk World" simulations. He'd done it for giggles. He'd given no thought to the inhabitants of those simulations. Why should he? They were beings of electricity. Zeros and ones. Playthings.

But Flintstone was warm, welcoming, generous. Wilma had a good heart. And now Rubble ... was wearing a green helmet with twin antennae and levitating a spatula. What. The. Hell.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12: The Conversation

Fred was nervous. So was I. We stood uncomfortably together in his backyard. Betty and Wilma watched us through the curtains covering my back window. Fred grandly lifted his arms into the air and shouted "GAZOO!"

Gazoo was suddenly there. Right there. Solid. Visible. I swallowed hard. "Greetings, Dum Dum. I am the Great Gazoo."

He had a deep but somewhat nasally voice. I made a note to investigate the length and thickness of his vocal folds, if I ever got a chance to do an autopsy. This aggressive thought granted me a cold, calm mastery over myself. Showtime.

I bowed, because why not. "Greetings, mighty Gazoo. I am Barney Rubble. Fred tells me you are from a planet in our future. If I may ask...?"

Gazoo grinned unreadably. "Yes?"

"Great Gazoo, are we in danger? You may have introduced not just alien bacteria, but extensively EVOLVED alien bacteria, onto our planet. Have we been infected with pathogens from the future?"

Gazoo looked bemused. "What a completely rational concern. I never imagined that anyone would hear my fib about being a time traveller and immediately worry that I hadn't washed my hands after using the toilet."

Sharding Yabba. The time travel is a lie?

Gazoo floated down and looked me in the eyes. "I promise that I carry no bacteria not native to this planet, in this time. It is more accurate to say that while my mind still exists in my own future body, this avatar body you see is created from the substance of your world. The two spacetimes exist side-by-side and I am in both bodies simultaneously. It's telepresence, not travel. Yes, I am from a planet in the future. No, I did not travel here from the future."

Shards. What did Gazoo mean by "telepresence"? Is the brain capable of controlling two bodies at the same time? Perhaps it is like driving a car. The car simply becomes an extension of the body, propelled by our two feet, steered by our two hands.

I suddenly realized the implications. Gazoo created a weapon that can destroy the universe. How is such a weapon practical? Is it not a suicide weapon? No. It is not. Not if your mind exists in two "spacetimes" side-by-side. You simply detonate the weapon and step to one side. One universe ends. The other continues. Madness.

"Great Gazoo, why are you here? Is it your intention to enslave us?" His answer was irrelevant, but it would be suspicious if I didn't ask.

"No." Gazoo continued to meet my gaze. "I promise."

Yeah, right.

"Barney Rubble." Gazoo continued. "Your magic show on 'The Happy Housewife' was ... very interesting. Please explain why you costumed yourself to resemble my avatar."

He calls his body in this spacetime his "avatar". He is suspicious of Fred. Time to take a risk. Gazoo was not the only liar in this backyard. "I had a very intense dream of a floating green leprechaun wearing a helmet with antennae. The leprechaun was doing the most admirable magic. This inspired me to BECOME the leprechaun. I have to imagine you somehow sent me the dream. Thank you."

Gazoo was silent. I glanced at the nearby sundial. About five minutes passed before Gazoo spoke again. Shards. Was Gazoo a rationalist from the future, or was it just a coincidence?

"I know of no way that my presence here would cause you to dream about me, but I must admit that many things are happening in this simulation iteration that I can't easily explain. It may be that your elevated intelligence settings are giving you superhuman abilities. I should probably warn my jailers about you, but for reasons of my own, I don't think I will. I am, after all, already a criminal. I badly want to see what happens next."


End file.
